


The Future is a Lonely Place

by HeavenlyDisaster



Series: Stuck [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bitterness, Depression, Gen, Loneliness, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Technophobia, lots of swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenlyDisaster/pseuds/HeavenlyDisaster
Summary: Steve Rogers died in 1943, but he should've known he wouldn't be allowed to rest for long.  2012 is an unfamiliar wasteland of technology driven, mannerless zombies and Steve is floating adrift in it struggling to find land.  Everything comfortable and familiar to him has been violently ripped away.Set shortly after the events of the first Avengers movie, Steve Rogers copes with life in a new city, in a new time, and with new people.





	1. Awake

“You’ve been asleep, Cap.  For almost seventy years.”

Steve growled at the electronic oven.  According to Natasha, it was one of the greatest inventions since penicillin.  Steve had to disagree.  All the food in his apartment was premade.  All he had to do was pop the container in the electric oven – microwave.  That was the word for it.  All Steve was supposed to do was pop the food in the microwave and press a couple of buttons.  Bing, bang, boom dinner is served.  Except it _never_ worked that way.

Steve pressed the buttons firmly.  Too firmly.  Everything these days was so flimsy.  So much more breakable than the stuff he was used to.  Stuff made to last.  The control panel had already been cracked from the night before when Steve had tried to use the machine for a ‘burrito’.  Now, the panel split in half.  Steve stared silently as the glowing numbers flickered on and off briefly before disappearing all together.

“I hate you.”  Steve told the machine.  He truly, truly meant it.  Steve grabbed his walkie talkie – cell phone.  Steve grabbed his cell phone and dialed Natasha’s number.  While the line rang, Steve thought back to the first phone call he had ever made.  Remembered that the line was never just silent.

Steve had gotten flustered when the female operator answered and asked what line he wanted to be connected with.  When he had worked as an operator as a kid, it had been mostly boys his own age.  “Operator, how can I connect your call?”

“This is Steve Rogers for Bucky – er, uh, James Barnes of Brooklyn, New York number five-zero-zero-two.”  Steve had stammered out.  He used the heel of his hand to wipe his wet cheeks and waited for the call to go through.

“Steve?”  Bucky answered a few moments later.  Steve could hear Bucky’s sister, Becca, in the background.  She sounded happy.  Steve took a shaky breath.

“She’s gone, Buck.” Steve told him.  He covered the receiver with his hand as he choked on a sob.  Steve cleared his throat and brought the receiver back to his face.  “She just couldn’t shake it.”

“Where are you?”  Bucky asked.

“Still at the hospital.  The doctors are moving her to the morgue now.”  Steve put his free hand in his floppy, blonde hair.  “God, what am I gonna do?”

“Stay there, alright?”  Bucky ordered.  “Don’t move.  I’ll be right there.”  Bucky hung up before he could get a word out in protest.  Steve set the receiver back in its cradle and slumped onto the bench beside it.

“Busy, Rogers.  What do you want?” Natasha snapped in Steve’s ear.  Steve glanced over at his broken microwave.  As distracted as Natasha sounded, he was positive that she was going to laugh at him over his predicament.

“My microwave is broken.”  He confessed.  Natasha grunted into the line and Steve could just make out the sounds of blows landing.  “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s always a bad time.”  Natasha retorted.  Steve frowned.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Natasha let out a cry and Steve’s heart raced.  He had to remind himself that the world had changed.  That Natasha may be a woman, but she was more than capable of handling herself and whatever came at her.  Also that if Steve even _dared_ to suggest that she needed his help he’d find himself covered head to toe in bruises.  “Just order take out.  Or go eat somewhere.  There’s an Indian place about a block away.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Steve grumbled.  “Good-bye.”  Steve pulled his walkie talkie away from his ear and stared at the screen.  The call had ended before he’d even said good-bye.  He hated that.

Steve grabbed his keys and started out the door of his apartment.  He had been moved out of New York after S.H.I.E.L.D.’s offices had been destroyed by Chitaurans.  They were rebuilding, but it was taking time.  During which, Steve was expected to stay in D.C.  Steve _hated_ D.C.  Well, okay, he didn’t _hate_ it.  He just wished he was still in New York.  At least there were _some_ things he still found familiar in his hometown.

Steve pulled a baseball cap down low over his face and stuck his hands in his pockets to make himself appear smaller.  Less imposing.  For everything he had gained through Dr. Erskine’s serum, he had lost twice as much.  For his anonymity?  Steve would give his health.  For the chance to grow old with Peggy?  He’d give his height.  To regain his life in nineteen-forties Brooklyn?  He’s give his strength.  To have his best friend alive and well and right by his side again?  Steve would give it all back.  Every last ounce of serum in his body.

Steve wasn’t fond of Indian food.  As a second generation Irish immigrant, his diet of choice featured heavily on the meat and potatoes side of life.  What he wouldn’t give for his mom’s homemade pot roast.  Christmas no longer felt like Christmas without it.  He passed the Indian place and kept going.  Somewhere there was a burger with his name on it.

He was about ten blocks from his apartment when he landed at a twenty-four hour diner.  It was wrapped in red, white, and blue neon.  Steve squinted against the lights to read the name.  The All American Diner.  Steve rolled his eyes.  Anything for the tourism profits he guessed.  People used to have stronger backbones.

His stomach was gurgling angrily and he couldn’t guarantee that there would be any better options if he kept walking.  At least the diner was likely to have a burger and right now, that was all he wanted.  He walked inside and sat at a booth in the far back corner, away from the line of sight from any potential onlookers.  He kept his cap low and his face down.

Over the speakers it seemed they were playing every song from the _Great American Songbook_.  Over the Rainbow crackled through the worn out speakers.  Steve wished there were a way to turn the music off.  He couldn’t stand the memories that came with it.  Watching Judy Garland sing it for the first time on the silver screen with Bucky beside him.  The audible gasp from everyone in the audience when she woke up in Oz and _in color_.

“What can I get ya, hon?”  The waitress asked, interrupting his thoughts.  Steve hadn’t even looked at a menu yet.  He pressed his fingertips against his temples.

“Do you have any hot tea?”  He asked.  He had quickly learned to specify that he wanted his tea hot or he’d end up with a glass of watery iced tea with more sugar in it than Steve had had in his first twenty-three years of life.

“Sure do.  Anything to eat?”  She asked.

“Just a hamburger.”

“What do you want on it?”  Steve sighed.  Of course they would put something crazy on a simple burger.

“Ketchup.  Lettuce, tomato.  Nothing crazy.”  Steve told her keeping his eyes on the vinyl tabletop.  The waitress scribbled something on her pad and Steve took advantage of her momentary distraction to read her nametag.  Leanne.  She was an older woman, if Steve had to guess he’d say late forties.  Then again, Steve was pushing a hundred and didn’t look anywhere near it. Leanne could be a thousand and at this point it wouldn’t really surprise him.  Steve returned his attention to the vinyl.

“Okie doke, hon.  I’ll get that in for ya and be right back out with your tea.”  Leanne hustled away and left Steve to his memories.

It would be easier to get away from everything he’d lost if he could just manage to make some new friends.  People to keep him locked in the now.  Clint and Natasha were both usually busy on S.H.I.E.L.D. missions which meant they never had time to pal around with Steve.  Fury wasn’t so much a friend as a superior.  Besides that, Steve still couldn’t figure out if he trusted the guy or not.

Tony Stark had made a terrible first impression and an even worse second impression.  He was impulsive and cocky and snarky and rude.  Everything Howard wasn’t.  Steve had to admit, Stark Junior had managed to impress him in a way Steve hadn’t thought the kid was capable of.  But Tony lived clear on the other side of the country and he had taken Bruce with him.

The only one of the Avengers that Steve not only liked, but even trusted was Thor.  A battle born warrior from another planet.  Fighting with Thor was like fighting with the Howlies.  All of the Howlies.  In one guy.  If he was a dame, Steve might’ve swooned.  But Thor had gone back to Asgard with the same Tessaract Steve had once flown into the ocean and his psychotic, murder brother.  Even if it were possible to call Thor, Steve knew the guy would likely be far too busy to pal around with him.

That meant that his friendship options were slim to none and that his lonely diner days were far from over.  His only company was going to be his pain and memories and Leanne.  Steve looked out the window into the night.  Leanne came by to set down his tea and he thanked her, keeping his eyes trained outside. 

Steve had taken to counting the number of police cars that went by.  He had been de-iced for less than a year and he knew he had already seen more police cars racing by with their sirens blaring than he had in his youth in Brooklyn.  He knew because without actively counting, young Steve Rogers had only ever seen five police cars whizz by him.

“Alright, honey, hot off the presses.”  Steve wrinkled his nose at her odd turn of phrase.  She set an open burger lying in a bed of fries in front of him decked with lettuce beneath a large slice of tomato that had been striped with ketchup and mayonnaise to look like the American flag.  Diced onions served as the stars.  Steve stared down at the plate.

“What’s this?”  Steve asked.

“Captain America.”  Leanne said.  Steve’s stomach dropped.  She knew who he was.  He darted his eyes quickly around the mostly emptied diner.  Two college students sat on the opposite end of the diner immersed in their textbooks and working on their third servings of milkshakes.  The cook was seated on a chair in the kitchen reading the paper.  “It’s our top selling burger.”  Leanne continued, oblivious to his reservations.  “People come from all over just to eat the All American Captain America.  Best burger in America.”  Leanne boasted.  Steve’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Right.  Thanks.”  Steve closed the top bun over his sandwich, hiding the tacky design.  Leanne was still standing beside his table staring down at his carefully concealed head.  Steve took a large bite of the burger and his stomach cheered.  Leanne still hadn’t moved.  Steve sighed and tilted his head toward her, swallowing the bite in his mouth.  “It’s delicious.”  He offered.  Leanne beamed down at him and shuffled away to check on the two college kids.

Steve was halfway through his burger and his second cup of hot tea when the door opened again.  Steve kept his head down, but watched the man approach the counter.  He was wearing a ball cap, like Steve, trying to remain anonymous.  He sat down and waited for Leanne to get back behind the counter to wait on him.  Steve’s hackles were raised.  He polished off his burger and began working through the fries keeping a careful watch on the man at the counter.

“Out pretty late here, hon.” Leanne announced, turning his coffee cup over and filling it.  The ominous man didn’t speak, just stared straight ahead.  Leanne frowned at him and turned away.  “Let me know if I can get ya anything else, hon.” She called back over her shoulder.

The man shifted in his seat, his hand ducking below his baggy sweatshirt.  He stood up and Steve jumped to his feet with him.  The man pointed the gun in the air and fired into the ceiling.  The college kids screamed and jumped under the table.  The cook and Leanne were frozen behind the counter.  Steve picked up his empty plate and hid it behind his back.

“Gimme all the cash in the register.”  Mr. Handgun ordered shaking the gun at Leanne and the cook.  Steve took a discreet step forward then another.  A step too far.  The man turned the gun on Steve.  It was bizarre how abruptly Steve felt calmed by the situation.  Peggy kept telling him he needed therapy.  Maybe she was right.  “Don’t get wise, guy.”  Mr. Handgun warned.

Steve tucked the plate into the waistband of his pants so he could hold both hands up for the guy.  Mr. Handgun waved the gun at him and used it to gesture towards one of the booths.  Steve kept his eyes on the guy and took a half step back toward the booth, glancing at Leanne and the cook.  Mr. Handgun followed his eyes and scowled.

“What’d I just say?” He bellowed.  “Take all the case outta the register and set it on the counter.  Do it now!”  Mr. Handgun screamed.  Leanne was practically in tears.  She hurried over to the cash register and hit a couple buttons to make the cash drawer open.

“Hey, buddy, how about we take it easy with the gun, huh?”  Steve suggested.  Mr. Handgun turned back to Steve.

“How about I shoot you here and now?  Huh?  How ‘bout that?” Mr. Handgun demanded.  Steve raised his brows and frowned. 

“You probably don’t wanna do that.” Steve told him with a shrug.  “I mean, you absolutely could, but I get a feeling my friends might have something to say about it.”  That gave Mr. Handgun pause.

“Friends?” He repeated.  “What friends?”  He waved his gun at Steve again.  “Who are you?  Huh?  Take off the hat and the hood.”  Mr. Handgun ordered.  Steve set his bottom teeth on his upper lip and sighed.  He had been hoping for _one night_ of being a normal citizen.  Just one.  Steve pulled the cap off his head knocking the hood of his jacket down with it.

“Oh my God.” Leanne uttered in disbelief.  Steve kept his attention on Mr. Handgun.  Watched the recognition slowly dawn on him.  What Steve expected next was for Mr. Handgun to drop his gun and surrender.  Most citizens were of the mind that Captain America was unkillable.  After all, here he was seventy years later alive and fighting back alien armies like it’s a normal Thursday.  Instead, Mr. Handgun steeled himself, taking a firmer stance.

“You’re him.”  Mr. Handgun said.  “Captain America.”  Steve sighed internally.  He had hoped to settle the situation without a fight.

“My name’s Steve.  What’s yours?”  Steve asked, still hoping there was a way to salvage the situation.  Mr. Handgun looked back at Leanne.

“Did I _tell_ you to stop with the cash?” He barked.

“Hey, hey.  Don’t worry about her.  You should worry about me.”  Steve told him.  Mr. Handgun looked Steve up and down.

“I don’t see your star-spangled Frisbee.  And I definitely don’t think you’re armed or you would’ve shot me already.”  Mr. Handgun said.  Steve lifted his hands and tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“I don’t carry the shield with me everywhere, ya know.  Especially not when I’m just out for a quick bite to eat.”  Steve glanced at Leanne and the cook.  “And I’m not really a gun guy.”  Mr. Handgun scoffed and turned his attention back to Leanne.  She scrambled to pull the money from the register.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m not a threat.”  Steve warned.  Mr. Handgun started to turn his head back to Steve again when Steve pulled the plate from the waistband of his pants and chucked it at Mr. Handgun’s gun holding hand.

It was weighted differently than his shield, but it had the desired effect.  Mr. Handgun dropped the gun.  The barrel was still pointed at Steve’s end of the diner when it went off for the second time.  Luckily, Steve had already moved to subdue the robber.  Leanne and the college kids screamed when the gun went off again, but by the time they stopped, Steve already had Mr. Handgun on his stomach with his hands held behind his back.

“Excuse me, Miss Leanne, but could you call the police please?” Steve asked calmly.  Leanne nodded mutely and hurried back to the phone that was hung on the wall between the front counter and the kitchen.

“This is Leanne at the All American Diner on Peach Street.  A man just tried to rob us.” Leanne whimpered into the phone.  “Yes, tried.  Someone stopped him, but he’s still here.”  Leanne paused and looked over at Steve.  She bit at her lips nervously.  “Captain America.”  She told the operator.  “Thank you.”

“Excuse me?” Steve looked up at one of the college kids.  “Sorry, I know you’re busy and all, but it’s not every day you and your boyfriend get saved by Captain America.”  The kid gushed.  They held out a walkie talkie – cellphone.  He really needed to stop doing that.  “Can we take a picture with you?”  Steve stared at the kid slack jawed.  People these days had no sense of decorum.

“Sort of busy.”  Steve told them, nodding down towards Mr. Handgun.

“Yeah, no, absolutely.”  The kid said.  “But it would just be real quick.  You wouldn’t even have to stop holding that guy down.”  Steve sighed seeing there was no polite way out of the photo op.  He gave an exasperated nod and the kids high fived over Steve’s head before crouching down beside him.

“Hey, Lee!  Mind taking a picture for us?”  The other kid asked.  Leanne came around the counter dragging the cook.

“Bill, take a picture of us with Captain America.”  Leanne ordered passing a walkie – cellphone – to the cook and taking a spot beside the college kids.  Steve shoved a tight lipped smiled on his face that he was positive came off as more of a grimace.

Five minutes later, the police arrived to cart Mr. Handgun off to jail to await charges.  The cops somehow had less civility than the college kids.  Steve shoved himself back into his Captain America persona.  Not his war hero Cap.  His war bonds Captain America.  He liked to think there was a difference. 

It took him three hours to get home.  The longest three hours he’d faced since the hours after Bucky….  Steve dropped his keys on his nightstand and dropped onto his couch face first.  He would beat the microwave into submission whether the infernal machine liked it or not because Steve would be damned if he ever did _that_ again.

His phone ringing woke him up two hours later.  Steve groaned and pushed himself up off the couch.  He stretched as he crossed the room to answer the phone.  As content as he was while asleep, his aching neck and back suggested that he shouldn’t make a habit out of sleeping on the couch.  Steve cleared his throat before he picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Cap.”  Nick Fury greeted on the other end.  “I see you’ve been busy.”  Steve sagged against the wall.

“I just happened to be there.” Steve explained.  “And I wasn’t about to leave their lives to chance.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about the armed robbery.  I was calling about all the P.R. you did with D.C. Metro Police.” Fury told him.  “I have had three agencies requesting meetings with you for projects.”  Steve was silent.  Technically, he was still a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative since he had signed on at Peggy’s suggestion.  The idea of doing public relations again made Steve want to quit then and there.

“Is this an order?”  Steve clarified.

“If it helps you sleep at night.”  Fury replied unhelpfully.  “First meeting’s at oh-nine-hundred.”  Fury ended the call before saying good-bye, leaving Steve to listen for the dial tone before hanging up himself.

“Whatever happened to manners, huh?”  Steve asked his apartment.  “I think Red Skull was more polite and he was trying to kill me.”  Steve wandered back into the kitchen and fiddled with his microwave.  If Bucky were here he’d have the machine figured out in ten minutes flat.  Steve gave up after a total of about five hours. 

Steve sat down in front of his computer and pulled up the internet.  He had a few hours to kill and he didn’t need to break the microwave any more than he already had.  A bit of catching up would be good for him.  Maybe he could take his mind off his technophobia for a bit.  Except the internet wouldn’t pull up.

“What in the ever loving fuck is a ‘connectivity issue’?”  Steve demanded of the machine.  “Is this about the microwave?”  Steve asked the computer.  “Are you two in cahoots?  Did HYDRA plant you here to ruin my fucking life?  Or is this some stupid fucking joke Stark’s decided to play with me?  Huh?”  Steve slapped the side of the screen enough to make the image flicker.  Steve had no clue where to begin when it came to fixing computer problems.  Or, really, any modern machine issues at all.

Steve’s cellphone chirped on the table giving him a reason to forgo messing with the computer for now.  The screen showed that he had telegrams from both Natasha and Tony.  Steve knew there was a way to get the screen to open up to show him the telegrams, he just couldn’t remember what it was.  Steve clicked the power button and the screen went black.  He clicked it again to make the screen come back and held it down.  Now three options showed.  None of the options offered to let him read his telegrams.

“Stupid fucking technology in the stupid fucking future with the stupid _fucking_ screens!”  He was glad he lived alone.  Nobody was there to shout back at him.  Steve chucked the phone onto the couch and headed into his room to change for a jog.  If he was going to deal with P.R. people all day, he needed some way to get his pent up aggression out.

The first t-shirt Steve put on ripped at the seam connecting the shirt to the sleeve.  Steve growled and ripped the shirt off his chest not unlike Bruce did when changing into the Hulk.  “Piece of shit.  Stupid fucking clothes made by these goddamned machines.  Whatever happened to actual fucking seamstresses, huh?  Show me an actual, genuine fucking tailor and I might weep with joy.”

One hour and thirty miles later, Steve stopped at the S.H.I.E.L.D. locker rooms to change into clean clothes before meeting Fury in his office.  Steve’s phone chirped in his pocket signaling another telegram.  He ignored it knowing there was no way to read it anyway and headed back out into the halls.

Steve hit the button for the elevator and stood back to wait for it to arrive.  A young woman came to stand beside him.  She reached toward the button, saw that it was already lit, and stepped back dropping her hand.  She looked up at Steve shyly.  The way pre-serum Steve had only ever dreamed of being looked at by a woman.  Steve opened his mouth to greet her, more out of politeness than anything else, when his phone chirped again.  Then twice more.

“I think your phone is going off.” She told him.  Steve gave her a tight smile.

“I know.  I just can’t remember how to work it.”  Steve admitted.  Yet another thing Bucky likely would have had no trouble with.

“What do you mean?” She asked, clearly confused.  Steve pulled it from his pocket and hit the power button to show her the screen.

“I can’t get it passed this.”  He said.  The woman reached out slowly and swiped her finger down across the screen.

“You just have to put your thumb in that circle to unlock it now.”  Steve turned the screen back to look at it.  A moderately sized circle sat in the middle of the screen asking for his thumb print.  Steve pressed his right thumb into it and the screen turned into a new one.  Vaguely familiar from when the S.H.I.E.L.D. tech agent had set him up with the thing.

“Thanks.”  Steve murmured already reading the telegrams from Tony.

**STARK**

I C U HAMMING IT UP

JUST GOTTA B IN THE SPOTLIGHT

**STARK**

NOT EVEN SUPER.

JUST A GUY.

TIRED OF ALIENS OLD MAN?

**STARK**

U TAKE ALL THE GOOD PRESS

NO1 WILL SHUT UP ABOUT U

**STARK**

1 GUY.

I PUT DOWN AN ARMY NADA.

U PUT DOWN 1 GUY

WTF

The elevator dinged signaling its arrival.  Steve waited for it to empty before stepping inside after the helpful woman.  He nodded once to her before turning his attention back to the telegrams on his screen.  Steve hit the reply button and began crafting his response to Tony.

DEAR TONY,

I DO NOT SAVE PEOPLE

FOR THE HEADLINES OR THE

ATTENTION.  I DO IT SIMPLY

BECAUSE IT IS THE RIGHT THING

TO DO.

P.S. WHY CAN’T YOU SPELL WORDS?

P.P.S. WHAT DOES WTF MEAN?

SIGNED,

CPT. STEVE ROGERS, PRVT SECT U.S. MILITARY

Steve hit send and moved on to read Natasha’s telegrams.  Hers were somehow worse than Tony’s. 

**NATASHA**

OMG STEVE U SRS?

B CALM 4 LK 5 MINS.

**NATASHA**

IS THIS BCUS UR MW BROKE?

Then about five telegrams that were mostly pictures of laughing and crying faces.  The elevator stopped at the woman’s selected floor making Steve look up from his telegrams.  She turned and smiled a good-bye at him.

“Have a good day.”  Steve told her.  “And thank you for the assistance.”  She blushed and nodded before moving quickly away.  The doors slid shut again leaving Steve alone to draft his response to Natasha.

DEAR NATASHA,

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT ANY

OF THIS MEANS.  NONE OF THESE

ARE WORDS.

SIGNED,

CPT. STEVE ROGERS, PRVT SECT U.S. MILITARY

Steve hit send right as a follow up from Tony found its way into his walkie talkie.  Steve squeezed the bridge of his nose.  Everything happens so fast in the future.  People used to take the time to smell the roses.  To actually physically talk to each other.  Not anymore.  Now it was all screen time and instant gratification.  Nauseating.

**TONY**

GOOD LORD, U OLD FOGEY

I’M GNA GET SUM1 TO TEACH

U MODERN COMM. SIT TIGHT.

BTW WTF STANDS FOR WHERE’S

THE FIGHT.

The elevator opened before Steve could decide on a reply.  He shoved the walkie talkie in his pocket and stepped out to meet Fury.  His office took the whole floor and lent itself to a spectacular view of the city.  A view that only served to make Steve ache so painfully for his own city.  What he wouldn’t give for just a taste of Brooklyn.

“You’re early.”  Fury announced in lieu of greeting.  Steve nodded, begrudgingly becoming used to the lack of niceties in this modern age.

“I’d rather get this particular mission over with sooner rather than later.”  Steve replied.  Fury gave him a knowing smile and nodded.

“Lucky for you, your first constituents are already here.”  Fury led the way back into the elevator and back down to the sixth floor conference room.  There were seven people at the table, all of whom stood up at the sight of Director Fury and Captain Rogers.  No.  They weren’t here for Captain Rogers.  To think otherwise would be naivety at its finest.  They were here for Captain America.

“Captain America.”  A man in a plain grey suit greeted.  “Good morning.  I’m Drew Leery for Teach America.  We want to talk to you about doing a couple of educational videos for the students of today.  As a famous and widely popular American figure, we feel that the students will respond to your influence.”  Steve hadn’t even sat down yet.

“An influence that goes beyond your violent, war hero influence.”  A woman piped up from the other side of the table.  “See, right now we have kids across the country – hell, across the globe, dressing up like Captain America and playing war.  We would like them to put that same energy into important things like their educations.”  Drew Leery nodded along with the woman.

“Exactly.  And a few promotional videos would go a long way in achieving that goal.  It’s a one or two day commitment that has the potential to affect hundreds of thousands of lives for the better.  What do you say?”

Six hours later, Steve was back in Fury’s office slouched in one of his chairs.  Somehow he had booked the next two weeks with public relations work.  Steve would rather pull his own eye out with a spoon than do public relations for a _day_.  He’d jump out of a plane if he believed it would get him out of two weeks of it.

“C’mon, it’s not so bad.  At least you aren’t getting shot at.  Or attacked by Chitauri aliens.”  Fury offered.  Steve shook his head and sighed.

“I think if you read my file, you’d know I prefer getting shot at.”  Steve stood up and headed for the elevator.

“I _did_ read your file.  So that means I also know how valuable your work with the public is.”  Fury said.  “Sale of war bonds jumped twelve percent in every city you hit on tour.”  Steve stepped into the elevator.  “You’ve been asleep for seventy years so it might come as a bit of a shock to you what with all the shiny toys and technology, but our country is hurting.  We could use a little morale lifting.”

“I still preferred fighting HYDRA.”  He told Fury.  “And you seem to be forgetting that I lived through the Great Depression.”  He reminded the director as the elevator doors slid shut.

Fury was wrong about a lot of things.  Steve could see that the country was hurting.  He could see it in every flashing police car that flew passed him on the street.  Every frantic robbery or panicked gunman.  School shootings, drug deals, murders in abundance.  No broken microwave or malfunctioning computer could blind him to the sickness that plagued the country.  The world.  As much as Steve hated the mechanical takeover, the technology wasn’t a distraction.  His utter and hopeless loneliness was.

Steve hadn’t ‘been asleep’ in the ice.  He had been dead.  Stone cold dead.  And every morning he woke up, he wished they’d left him that way.


	2. Personal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out about his exhibit in the Smithsonian.

Steve stared blankly at the wall of assorted pre-packaged snacks.  Everything here was sugar-filled sickness inducing garbage.  He found himself longing once again for his mom’s boiled cabbage and potato stew.  A stew he had tried in vain to make four days ago and nearly burnt down his apartment complex.  He sighed and moved on to the next aisle holding his empty shopping basket at his side.

The soup aisle looked promising.  Canned food wasn’t exactly a new invention and he had eaten his fair share of Campbell’s when Sarah Rogers was late at work or too exhausted to make a proper home cooked meal.  The variety was impressive.  There seemed to be a different soup for every day of the year.  Steve selected a few standard favorites and added in a couple new recipes to try out.

Working his way down the aisle, he found canned beans and other classic canned foods he could work with.  It wasn’t that the food was bad in the twenty-first century, in fact it was in many ways much better.  It was the abruptness of the change that was leaving a sour taste in his mouth.  He’d been fully awake for less than two months.  He could still taste the last meal his mother ever cooked for him.  He could still hear the sound of Bucky’s laughter.  Smell the sweetness of Peggy’s perfume.  But he would never have that again.  He would never have any of it again.

Already he had fought aliens and dealt with the fact that not only had Howard Stark gotten married (most surprisingly not to Peggy) he’d started a private government agency alongside Peggy Carter and several like-minded individuals in his honor and had a son.  A son who grew up to resent both Steve and Howard in a way the Steve couldn’t fathom.  The man Tony Stark described was not the same man he had left days before to stop Red Skull once and for all.  He wasn’t the man that had flown across enemy lines to help Steve rescue his best friend.  If Steve had met this new Howard upon waking up he would never have recognized him.

“Hey, aren’t you Captain America?”  Steve looked up then over to the man who’d spoken.  The top of the man’s head came up to Steve’s shoulder and his belly hung out over his slacks.  The man smiled up at him and Steve cleared his throat.

“Steve Rogers.”  He replied holding out his hand for the man to shake.  The guy looked like he could’ve been knocked over with a feather.

“Oh my god.  I gotta tell ya I _just_ took my son to your exhibit at the Smithsonian.  He’s, like, your number one fan.  Honestly.”  The man pulled out his wallet and fished a pocket-sized photograph from it to show Steve.  The boy looked like a younger, thinner version of the man before him.  His chubby cheeks were flushed with exertion.  Two white crutches were clutched in his hands to hold him up on his thin, twisted legs.  “He’s got cerebral palsy, ya know.  You’re a real inspiration to him.”

Steve forced himself to swallow and scratched at his throat.  “How old is he?”

“He turned eleven two days ago.  That’s when we went to the museum, see?”  Eleven.  Back in Steve’s days, a kid like that wouldn’t make it past infancy.  The future had its benefits.  “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind signing something for me.  I still got that museum brochure in my jacket pocket.”  He dug the brochure out and unfolded it passing it to Steve.

_The Smithsonian presents Captain America: Retrospective only at the Air and Space Museum_.  Steve stared at the brochure turning it over and over in his hands.  A picture of him in full Cap attire saluting adorned the front page.  He flipped it open and skimmed the information.  His eyes landed on a black and white photo of him and Bucky. 

His mouth went dry.  To him, Bucky had only been gone four months.  He still woke up expecting to find him in the kitchen in the mornings.  He would find himself casually speaking to an empty room fully expecting Bucky to be there.  Because he was always there.  The loss of him was still so new, but to everybody else it was seventy years ago.  Steve’s chest grew tight and he had to force himself to breathe.

“Hey, you alright, man?”  The man asked him, his hand landed on Steve’s bicep and he shied away almost on instinct.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m good.”  Steve signed the brochure for the man’s son and excused himself quickly.  He hadn’t expected a trip to the grocery store to be so painful.  So enlightening.  He raced the two blocks back to his apartment and dropped his groceries on the floor just inside the door.  He needed directions to the Air and Space Museum.  He needed them now.

Somehow it wasn’t what he imagined it was going to be.  The exhibit was much darker than the brightly lit museum he had known as a child in New York.  He wondered if that was a difference based on time or location.  Nobody looked twice at him as he stepped through the infographics on the walls.  Why would they?  After all, Captain America had no reason to be in his own exhibit.  At least, not one they would think of.

Steve stopped at the ensemble of Howling Commandos mannequins.  His was front and center.  His old uniform.  He’d wondered where it went.  The one he wore in the Battle of New York looked similar, but Steve knew his suit when he saw it.  The museum even had his original shield.  The fist of Johann Schmidt was firmly outlined at the top where he had punched it aiming for Steve’s head.  Steve’s fingers seemed to move of their own accord, gently tracing the grooves.

His eyes lighted on the uniform to his right.  Bucky’s uniform.  Of course, it wasn’t really Bucky’s uniform.  Bucky had been wearing his uniform four months before when he’d fallen from the train.  Steve’s eyes filled as the sounds of Bucky’s screams filled his ears.  The vision of Bucky’s receding body his arms flinging out.  Reaching for Steve even as he grew further and further away.

As if summoned, Steve suddenly stood face to face with his nightmare.  A veritable shrine to Bucky’s honor.  A great glass wall was mounted and inscribed with loose details of Bucky’s modest life.  Tidbits that he couldn’t imagine how they had come to know.  Details that neither Steve nor Bucky had ever even thought to write down.  Steve’s eyes caught on the inscription at the base of the monument.  _Commemoration generously funded by Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter close friend and mentor to Captain Rogers & Co._

Peggy.  It explained why they had so much information.  Apparently the exhibit had started in the sixties in New York on the twentieth anniversary of his supposed death.  No doubt with the assistance of both Peggy and Howard.  How else had they gotten such an exact replica of Bucky’s Commandos uniform designed by Howard in a secret underground facility?  Steve wondered why he had had to find out about the exhibit from a stranger in the grocery store.  Sure Peggy’s memory came and went like a cat at the door, but during her coherent moments she should have mentioned the memorial.

An old video reel was playing just to his right.  Two young boys stood giggling in front of it.  Brothers from the look of them.  The younger boy held a plastic Captain America shield while the older one held a plastic Mjolnir.  The corner of Steve’s mouth lifted in a tiny smile.  He wondered if Thor knew his beloved hammer was being mass produced and marketed to children.  No matter the answer, Steve was certain Thor wouldn’t mind.  He might even find it endearing.

The small smile fell as his attention turned to the film reel.  It was him and Bucky again.  They grinned foolishly at the camera and at each other.  Steve remembered that day.  They had just come out of a HYDRA base the night before and hadn’t slept in sixty-some hours.  Even so, Bucky and Steve continued screwing around and joking with each other.  Steve’s tears welled up in his eyes again and this time there was no restraining them.

Just five weeks after that film was captured, Steve had urged Bucky and Gabe to jump onto a fast moving train in the Swiss Alps.  Steve was happy he had chosen to hide his face beneath a pair of dark sunglasses and his trusty baseball cap.  At least it would conceal a fraction of his immense grief from passersby.  Steve’s gaze drifted away from Bucky to his own stupid grin.  A white hot resentment burned in his chest for the man on the screen.  He wished he could jump into the frame and strangle the smile right off his face. 

His fists curled and he felt himself start to lunge at the screen.  He shook the thick haze from himself just in time.  The two boys stared up at him warily.  He coughed into his fist and shoved both hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie.  Bowing his head, he shuffled around the children and made his way deeper into the exhibit.  He could feel his throat still tight with the fiercely repressed sobs threatening their way to the surface.

Steve snuffled harshly refusing to break down in such a public place.  There was no way he was going to give these gawkers any more of a show than they had paid for.  They wanted a look into Captain America’s private life?  Fine.  Steve Roger’s private life was off limits.  Or so he thought. 

As he came upon a glass case he was startled to see three of his old journals flipped open under the glass to various ‘pages of interest’.  Beside the journals was his old compass.  The one he had on the plane with him when he went down.  The one with Peggy’s picture in it.  Steve’s pencils and rations and various other accoutrements he had kept with him during the Blitz were laid out and tagged with a description.

Unthinkingly, Steve forced open the glass door at the back of the display and picked out his journal.  Alarms began to sound and lights flashed in every corner of the room.  For some stupid reason, Steve thought it was an air raid.  He instinctively reached for his shield, but it wasn’t on his back.  It was back at his apartment.  Silently, he cursed himself for his own stupidity, but pushed it aside to think of all the civilians in the building that needed to get to a safe place preferably underground.

Steve looked around at the exits and potential safe places.  As he was looking, he noticed something odd.  Nobody had moved.  Everyone was frozen in place and most of them were gawking at him.  Two slovenly security guards came ambling over to him, batons raised, followed closely by a stern looking man in a suit.  Steve straightened from his action ready stance and faced his new confronters.

“It is illegal to touch the artifacts in the exhibits, sir.  That journal is nearly a hundred years old!”  The man in the suit berated.  Steve looked down at his old journal clenched in his hand and back at the old man.

“It’s only seventy years old.”  Steve announced.  Then considered it.  “Seventy years and two months actually.”

“Yes, thank you.  I have inspected every artifact in this exhibit myself.  I know how old they are.  Now put it down.”  Steve frowned at the man and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No.”

The curator and security guards looked flabbergasted for a split second.  The curator managed to flounder his way out of his surprise to put his foot down.  “You will not rob the good people of this country of a priceless token of America’s greatest hero’s legacy.”  He insisted.  “You will put that journal down and you will go directly into the hands of the authorities.”

“You mean to arrest me?  On what grounds?”  Steve demanded, knowing full well what the curator thought the grounds would be.

“What grounds?  Why theft!  Theft of course!”  He spluttered.  Steve held the journal up beside his face.

“Theft of this?  How can I be arrested for the theft of this journal?”  Steve pulled off his hat and dark sunglasses to a chorus of surprised and excited gasps.  “It’s _mine_.”  The curator began to splutter again, trying to find the right words.  Or any words it seemed like.  Steve stared at him impassively.

“The-the museum obtained those journals – all of the artifacts in this exhibit – more than fifty years ago!” The curator managed.  “They belong to the museum.”

“’Property of Steven Grant Rogers’.” Steve read aloud.  “Well, _I_ am Steven Grant Rogers.”  Steve lifted an eyebrow at the curator.  “Unless your name is Steven Grant Rogers, too.  Which would be a wacky coincidence.”  The curator’s face had become an alarming shade of red.  Steve was mildly worried about whether the man were going to spontaneously combust or faint altogether in the midst of this feud.

“The – the appropriation of – of – of…. You can’t have it!” The curator insisted. 

Steve turned his attention to the journal.  He quickly determined that this was the second journal in his set and thus, it didn’t have what he was looking for.  Not that it didn’t have anything he wanted, it just didn’t have the specific thing he was looking for in that instant.  He reached back into the exhibit and withdrew another of his journals.  He flipped through it as the curator shouted expletives beside him.  The first journal wasn’t the right one either.  He reached in for the third and flipped through once, twice, and a third time before turning on the curator.

“The photographs.” He said cutting the man off.  “Where are the photographs that were in this journal?”  The curator stared at Steve with his mouth hanging open.  Steve growled and shook the empty pages at the man, the tape that had held the photos in place were still stuck to the paper.  “The photographs on these pages.  Where are they?”  Steve demanded.

He was running low on patience.  This was _his_ stuff.  It wasn’t Captain America memorabilia.  This was _Steve Rogers’_ stuff.  _His_ journals.  _His_ thoughts.  _His_ photographs.  This museum had no right to put Steve Rogers on display.  As far as he was concerned, Captain America was a completely different person than the person Steve Rogers was.

“Answer me!”  Steve shouted.  He heard a few more gasps, this time more afraid than excited.  Steve snarled at the curator and stomped away to another display case in search of his missing photographs only to find another very familiar journal in another glass case.  It was open to the middle page and Bucky’s elegant scrawl covered most of the two pages splotched where rain and tears had hit them.  He glowered at the curator, animal rage at Bucky’s tragedy being used to sell tickets burrowed in his chest.

The curator, for his part, had gone from beet red to snow white.  Steve would be relieved when he finally passed out and he could rifle his things without the man’s whining.  Steve came to a stop in front of a wall mounted with a hundred photographs of him, the Howlies, and various locations famous to the Captain America legend.  His shoulders sagged as he caught sight of his photographs.  The ones the photographer kept from headlines in favor of more actionable ones choosing instead to gift them to Steve and the Howlies.

Steve couldn’t find a door on the wall case.  His photographs were trapped just under the surface.  Just out of reach.  He stared at the photos.  Bucky grinning ear to ear next to Dum Dum and Jones.  Each of them held guns, but only Jones held a stolen HYDRA gun.  Bucky and Steve sitting side by side on a log in front of a blazing fire laughing at some joke Jack had made.  Another photograph by the fire from a time Steve couldn’t even remember where he was fighting with Bucky in an antitypical fairly matched skirmish.  The Howlies sat around the fire on the opposite side watching and laughing.

“Open it.”  Steve ordered.  An outburst of whispered gossip erupted suddenly.  When the curator didn’t move or respond, Steve spoke again.  “Open it or I break it.”

“Wow.  Were you this dramatic in the forties?”  Tony asked demurely.  Steve took a deep breath and turned to face his new adversary.

“What are you doing here, Stark?” The whispers only increased until security began evacuating the exhibit ushering people out into the main building.

“Trying to keep you from getting arrested.” Tony said simply.  He wasn’t in his iron suit which meant he’d either already been in town, or he’d left it somewhere nearby.  Steve knew Tony, his money was on the latter.

“For what?  It’s _my_ stuff, Tony.” Steve said defensively.  Tony sniffed.

“Was your stuff, but then you, ya know, died.” Tony shrugged indifferently.  “Look, you could go through a whole legal battle and wage it out with the museum and, yeah, you might get your stuff back, but you don’t wanna take that away from the kids, do you?”

“I don’t want the whole exhibit.” Steve explained haltingly.  “I only want….”  Steve looked back at the photos and down at the journals still clutched in his hands.  “Some things are _personal_ , Tony.  Some things aren’t meant for all to see.”  Tony sniffed again and moved to stand beside Steve and stare at the photos.

“These are personal?” Tony gestured to the pictures on the wall.  Steve brought his hand to his forehead and shut his eyes.

“You don’t understand.”  He muttered.  “Nobody could possibly understand.”

“I understand if you keep holding those diaries like that they’re gonna fall apart.”  Tony pointed out.  Steve looked down and smiled shaking his head.

“Nah, things were more durable in my day.”  Still, Steve relaxed his grip on the books and held them more tenderly in his hands.  “Though I do keep forgetting they seem to have seen more years than I have.”  He pulled up the third journal and opened it to the last entry.  “Do you see this?”

“Yeah huh.  What of it?”

“I wrote this two days before I woke up in New York.  A little over a week before I was saddled up with you fighting aliens.”  Steve sighed.  “This happened yesterday for me.  That’s what none of you guys seem to understand.”

Tony was quiet beside him for a minute.  He was staring at the date scribbled in the top left corner of the page and frowning in thought.  Steve couldn’t keep blaming people for their ignorance to his situation and he knew that, but it was so much harder when his life was a barrage of people telling him to just ‘get over it’ and ‘move on’. 

It wasn’t losing a single family member.  It wasn’t moving to a new city or getting a new job.  It wasn’t loss in a way anybody in the world could fathom because it wasn’t _just_ his family and friends he had lost.  It was absolutely everybody he had ever known or loved.  It was his home.  His world.  His entire way of life.  All of it had been snatched out from under him and they expected him to come out of it walking on water.

“Sit tight.” Tony told him, backing away.  “And I mean that.  Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be right back.”  Steve watched Tony weave his way through the exhibit and disappear through a door inlaid in the wall.

Steve turned his gaze back to the photographs.  His photographs.  The tokens of his life and his mission.  If reading Fury’s file on the now deceased Howling Commandos had sat in his stomach as sour as curdled milk, he was glad at least that they died thinking they had accomplished their mission.  To awaken after all that time and find that the very thing you had sought to destroy for so long was scavenged and used by your own government.  Nothing made him happier than to see Thor take the putrid thing into space once and for all.  If the Tessaract ever landed on Earth again it would be too soon.

Steve kept moving to keep his electric thoughts from his extreme disappointment.  Nay, anger.  His fingertips brushed the glass case above Bucky’s journal.  The date was early in ’42 before Steve had joined the fight.  His eyes tripped over the familiar scrawl easily, absorbing every word.  Feeling every emotion as Bucky had when he’d written it.  It was bizarre to feel so furious at the extreme breech of privacy and yet incapable of granting his best friend the same courtesy.

His heart stopped as he landed on his name in Bucky’s handwriting.  Even in his darkest moments, Bucky had been thinking about Steve.  He smiled sadly at the thought of Bucky writing about him working in a munitions factory while he sang and danced on a stage instead.  Steve soured instantly.  He had been singing and dancing while Bucky was bunked down in a muddy trench hastily scribbling his thoughts for the day in between bombs and bullets.  All for a couple of bucks.

“Alright, I talked to the curator and I called the president of the museum board.  They are open to negotiations.  Just need to tell them what exactly you want.”  Tony announced, emerging from the back room.  “Oh, and you aren’t allowed back in the building after today.”  Steve arched a curious brow at Tony who gave him a slight chuckle and shrugged.  “Yeah, I know.  What’re they gonna do?  Just humor them.”

“Fine.  How long do I get to decide?”  Steve asked, sliding his hands over the glass tenderly.  Tony shrugged again, a little cock of his shoulders signaling his indifference to guidelines.  Steve once again thought he would make a terrible soldier.  Though, admittedly, he made for a pretty decent hero.

“I say take however long you need, but the museum guys are kinda fidgety.  Better do it quick before they get any bright ideas.”  Tony pursed his lips in distaste back at the closed door.  Steve nodded in understanding.  At least big, corporate guys hadn’t changed in seventy years.  Slimy as ever.

“The journals.” Steve held them up for Tony to see and he nodded.

“Obviously.  Gotta keep those diaries locked up, Anne.”  Tony patted him on the shoulder and moved over to examine a portrait of Steve from his war bonds propaganda days.  A foul look shadowed Tony’s face briefly before he moved on to a case filled with old Captain America comics.

“Bucky’s, too.” Steve said.  Tony looked up and over at the case Steve was still hovering in front of.  Guarding.  He frowned and opened his mouth to say something smarmy when he thought better of it and shut his mouth nodding.  “And my old compass.”  Steve pointed with his hand holding all three volumes of his war journals.

“You know your phone has GPS, Cap.  Works just as good.  Hey, works even better.”  Tony meandered about the deserted exhibit with Steve for an hour and a half while Steve worked out just what exactly it was that he couldn’t part with.  By the time Steve had made a mental note of the entire collection, the museum had closed for the night.

“There’s another photograph I haven’t been able to find yet.  It’s one of the four that were taped in my journal.  It’s a personal favorite.” Steve confessed.  Tony nodded and looked around the museum once more.

“Sure you didn’t overlook it?” Tony asked.  Steve shook his head.

“It’s not here.”  Steve swallowed.  “Do they have more in the back?  Or…?”  Steve trailed off casting his eyes around the vacant room.

“No.  No, everything here was donated either by my dad or Peggy Carter.”  Tony shook his head.  “If it’s not on display it might just be lost.  It has been seventy years, Cap.”  Steve swallowed hard and nodded mutely. 

“Anything else?”  Tony asked as they made their way back through the exhibit towards the exit.  Steve stopped back by the flank of uniformed mannequins.  He let out a heavy sigh.  “Oh, no.”  Tony said.  “You got a suit.  You want another suit?  I’ll _make_ you a suit.  I’ll make you an awesome suit.  Don’t take the Cap outfit from the kids.  C’mon, Rogers.  Don’t be that guy.”  Steve turned to look at Tony with a confused expression.

“I don’t want the suit.” He said, though he felt it should have been obvious.

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, good.”  Tony slid his hands into his pockets and nodded seriously.

“I want the shield.”  Steve continued undeterred.  The look on Tony’s face was priceless.  His mouth hung open in stunned silence for a full three seconds.

“Wh- that’s not even vibranium!”  Tony argued.  “That’s the propaganda shield what are you even planning on doing with it?  And it’s all dented!”  Tony argued.  Steve stared at the hunk of metal.  The only thing that stood between him and a barrage of bullets as he braved the lions’ den to save Bucky.  The _only_ time he managed to save Bucky.  He didn’t just want the shield.  He _needed_ it.

“I need it.”  Steve announced simply.  “Besides, can’t you make them a replica or something?”  Tony frowned.

“Replica’s not the same as the genuine article and you know it.” Tony sniffed.  “But yes.”

“Bucky’s outfit’s a replica.  Don’t hear anyone complaining about that.”  Steve countered.  Tony looked over at the navy blue jacket with an upturned collar.  He squinted at it briefly and turned back to Steve.

“How’d you know it’s a replica?” He didn’t know what he asked until he saw Steve’s face crumple briefly in tightly concealed pain.  “He was wearing it.”  Tony said slowly in understanding.  “They never found a body?”  Steve shook his head.

“It was so far out in the Alps by the time anybody made the trek out there his body was layers under snow and ice.”  Steve focused on the shield instead of the memory.  He thought about the stunned look in Schmidt’s horribly disfigured face as the Tessaract blasted him out of existence.  It was a better thought than of Bucky’s terrified face as he plunged into the open air beneath the tracks.  “I need the shield.”  He said again.  This time, Tony nodded solemnly.

“Give me a minute to go talk it over with the big guys and I’ll be back.”  Tony told him, disappearing back into the room from earlier.  Steve cast his eyes around the museum once more.  He couldn’t take the films with him, but he could burn them into his brain.  And if he ever felt the urge to watch them again, he could always sneak back in discreetly although he hoped that time would never come.

Tony reemerged with good news.  They had agreed to all of his conditions provided they were given time to make the necessary replicas.  Tony had chivalrously volunteered himself for the task.  The only replicas Steve denied them making were the entries in his journals.  Like he said, they were personal.

“Tony,” Steve started later when they were seated in a private room at a posh restaurant.  “You don’t have to make all the replicas yourself.  I know you have a lot on your plate.” 

“Yeah, and that’s before dinner’s even been served.” He quipped.  “No, but seriously it’s fine.  I haven’t been able to get much sleep lately anyway.”

“What?  Why?”  Steve demanded, hiding his alarm.

“Oh, it’s nothing really.”  He waved off the concern yielding only when Steve’s steel expression announced that he wouldn’t be dropping the subject.  Tony sighed and cocked his head to the side a bit, wincing before he’d uttered a word.  “Little PTSD thing I’m dealing with.  It’s no big deal, really.  And if Pepper tracks you down don’t tell her otherwise.”  Tony smiled politely at their waiter and ordered a bottle of scotch.

“PTSD?  Is that a disco thing?”  Steve asked, watching Tony pour the amber liquid into two tumblers.  Tony barked out a short laugh and shook his head.

“No, it’s… ah.  No.  You wouldn’t have heard of it, that’s right.” Tony shook himself again.  “Wow.  Never thought I’d meet a soldier who’d never even heard of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”  Steve frowned and Tony went on to explain.  “It’s a little difficult.  You see something – like a fleet of alien ships in outer space – and suddenly you can’t go a day without seeing them.  Fighting them.  Even if it’s just in your head.”  Tony tossed back his drink unceremoniously and refilled it.

“You’re talking about Shell Shock.” Steve clarified.  Tony held up his glass and examined the contents closely.

“No, I’m talking about PTSD.  _You’re_ talking about Shell Shock.”  Tony sighed and set his emptied glass back on the table.

“You doin’ anything for it?” Steve asked carefully.  Tony smirked.

“Yeah, I’m helping hundred year old men steal from museums.”  Tony sighed and settled into his seat.  “Tell me about that picture you were after.”  He asked after their food arrived.  Steve slowed his knife in its path through his steak.

“It was the four of us; Bucky, Peggy, Me, and… Howard.”  Steve confessed.  “One of the few times we were ever all together above ground.  Somewhere in London, I think.”  Tony chewed on appearing unperturbed by this revelation.  “The rest of the guys were always down in the nearest pub the second our feet hit allied territory.  Me, I can’t get drunk anyway so I rarely bothered and Bucky preferred to keep me in his line of sight.”  A wide, sad smile graced Steve’s face.  “Easier to get me out of whatever trouble I’d gotten myself into if he was there when it started.”

“Dad never mentioned you were a trouble maker.”  Tony announced.  “Always seemed to be of the mind that you never met a rule you didn’t like.”

“Grief fuzzes the memories I suppose.  In my head, Bucky is ten feet tall and bitter.  In reality, he was no taller than I am now and the absolute most charismatic guy you’d ever meet.”  Steve leaned heavily on his elbow and used his hand to hold up his head.  “Howard helped me break just about every rule we ever came across.  He helped me get across enemy lines after the Colonel gave specific orders that I was to sit on my hands and do nothing.”

“He did mention that.  Not the specific orders from the Colonel bit, but the helping you brave enemy territory with nothing but a tiny twin engine plane.  Yeah, heard that one a lot.”  The muscle in Tony’s jaw jumped from tension and Steve let out a sigh.

“I think if Howard had let himself move on and stop comparing the two of us, he would’ve been an amazing father to you.”  Steve went back to cutting his steak.  “The Howard Stark I knew and the Howard Stark everybody else knows are completely different people.”

“So I’ve heard.  What a difference a day makes, huh?”  Tony smiled.  “Or two months, whatever.”

“Thank you, Tony.”  Steve told him outside his apartment building.  Tony sat behind the wheel of an expensive sports car Steve couldn’t hope to name as Steve stood outside the open passenger door looking down at him.  Tony waved his hand at the gratitude as though swatting a fly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m serious.  I know I’ve been hard on you, but really.  Thank you.”  Steve smiled at Tony sincerely.

“You’re gonna make me cry, old man.  Go to bed.”  Steve shut the passenger door and Tony sped off into the night.  Steve watched until the tail lights disappeared around a distant corner before turning in for the night.

Back in his apartment, he let his shoulders sag.  The tension of the day, of being Captain America, was finally draining off of him.  He set his journals on a bookshelf beside his television and went back to grab his groceries from hours earlier.  Had it really only been a few hours?  It felt like days since that man had stopped him in the canned food aisle.

Once finished with the groceries, Steve turned on his computer and opened Google.  Tony wasn’t the only one that had trouble sleeping.  Though Steve liked to convince himself that it was for different reasons.  If anyone asked about his habits, he brushed them off with a reminder that he had ‘slept’ for seventy years.  In reality, the few hours Steve managed to bed down for were punctuated by the most grisly nightmares anyone could hope to think up.

A few good things had come from the museum.  The images of Bucky and the rest of the Howlies, while excruciatingly painful, were somehow cathartic.  To know that other people would remember his friends.  His loved ones.  It took a weight off his chest.  The trip also served to remind him that he wasn’t completely alone in this foreign time.  That he had friends here.

Steve flicked the computer back off and worked on turning on one of the many movies S.H.I.E.L.D. had acquired for him.  _Casablanca, The Thin Man_ series, and a few others both that Steve remembered and ones he didn’t.  He stayed away from the two _Thin Man_ follow ups.  He’d watched the first one with Bucky back when it had first come out.  Bucky had absolutely loved it and so had Steve.  He couldn’t bear the thought of watching the sequels knowing Bucky would never get the same opportunity.  Instead, he settled into _Rebel Without a Cause_ , recommended by Tony Stark himself.

Two days later, Steve received a package from Stark Enterprises.  Inside was the framed photograph he had been searching for and a note in Tony’s messy scribble.

_Steve_ ,

_Your photo wasn’t in the museum because my old man kept it.  Wiley old bastard that he was.  Full of sentiment as well as cynicism._

_All it’s doing here is collecting dust so I think you should have it back._

_Your welcome._

_T.S._


	3. Overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has trouble sleeping. Clint and Natasha tease him relentlessly, but ultimately help him in a big way. Because that's what friends do!

It was cold.  Vicious winds bit at his cheeks, but he didn’t notice.  All he could focus on was Bucky.  Bucky dangling off the side of a freight car suspended high above the Swiss Alps.  Steve leaned into the biting cold and stretched his arm out for Bucky to grab.  He held the jagged edge of the blown apart freight car so hard he was sure his hand would freeze there.

“Bucky, grab my hand!” Steve screamed.

Bucky.  Brave Bucky who followed Steve without question looked at Steve with nothing but trust.  Trust that Steve would catch him.  Trust that Steve wouldn’t let him die.  Bucky reached out for Steve and the metal of the train groaned.

In a beat, Bucky was gone.  Beyond Steve’s reach.  Before he had time to mourn, Steve found himself sitting behind the controls of a HYDRA plane.  Peggy’s voice crackled through the comms.  Begging Steve to turn the plane around.  Begging him to come home to her.  But Steve had followed Bucky into this war.  He would follow him out.

The impact of the plane hitting the ice wasn’t enough to kill him.  Not with the super soldier serum coursing through his veins.  Steve was born resilient.  No sickness or disease was enough to slam the final nail into his coffin.  And the serum enhanced everything.

The impact had, however, been enough to throw Steve from the pilot’s seat and shatter the windows of the plane.  Steve picked up his shield and looked out into the vast white landscape.  He could see nothing for miles and the plane was filling with icy water.

“Steve?”

Steve spun on his heels at whatever threat still loomed in the recesses of the flooding plane.  It was Bucky.  Steve lowered his shield and bowed his head.  Steve knew Bucky would be furious with what he had done.  With what was inevitably going to happen.  He was knee deep in frigid waters already.  The plane was slipping off the shelf of ice and sinking lower into the Arctic Ocean.

Without Bucky alive, life meant nothing.  He knew he shouldn’t think that way.  He knew Peggy loved him and he loved Peggy.  But she wasn’t Bucky.  She wasn’t there when he was on the brink of death from one disease or another.  She wasn’t there to pick him up, broken and bleeding and walk him home.  She wasn’t there when his mother died.  Steve loved Peggy and that’s why he could never ever tell her.

She wasn’t enough.

Bucky opened his mouth again, but no sound came out.  He bared his teeth in a terrified scream and reached his hand out to Steve once more.  Steve reached forward, Bucky’s face melting into something grotesque and mutilated.  It should have scared Steve away.

Instead, Steve lunged forward and clasped his hand around Bucky’s tightly.  But it disappeared.  Bucky stood as though he were reaching out for him still, but his arm was gone.  His face melted back despite the icy weather.  Bucky was gone and Steve was determined to follow.

The water rushed over his face.  Steve laid down, holding his shield in his hands.  He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before letting the waters envelope him and carry him away.

Steve sat up in bed sweating.  He looked around, confused by his surroundings.  For a while, nothing made sense.  The bed, the apartment, the lights.  It all trickled back into Steve’s mind.  The cold nightmare was from a hundred years ago.  Steve’s new nightmare was one he couldn’t wake up from.

He tossed the blanket off his legs.  It wasn’t doing him any favors anyway.  Steve walked, barefoot and clad only in a white t-shirt and a pair of blue boxers, to the kitchen.  The cold nightmare was the worst one.  It never failed to throw Steve off balance.  His hands trembled as he worked on making himself a cup of coffee.

Steve hadn’t ever been much of a coffee drinker.  Aside from the fact that his body was always iffy on what he ate and drank, Steve never had much of a taste for the stuff.  With his mind addled from years of being nothing more than a lump of ice and the still frozen horrors of war that never seemed to let up, Steve had taken a liking to it.  At least if he didn’t sleep, he wouldn’t dream.

He looked out his kitchen window as he waited for his drink to finish brewing.  It was still dark, but off in the distance he could just make out the first ray of sunlight.  He ran his thumb under his eyes and yawned.  Maybe he could run off some of the ice before he had to report in at S.H.I.E.L.D.

He was early even by S.H.I.E.L.D. standards when he walked into the building later that morning.  Few people could walk about S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters as easily as Steve could.  He didn’t even wear a badge like everyone else.  Even Director Fury himself had a badge.  Though, to be fair, he was given a badge at first.  But Steve flat out refused to wear it.

He may have been more inclined to follow the guidelines if his official name badge hadn’t said Captain America in big, bold letters with _his_ name scrunched up underneath in parenthesis.  Nobody needed a badge to know he was Captain America and if that’s how they wanted to play, Steve was sitting it out.

“Laura’s been on me about it for weeks now,” Clint whined.

Steve turned the corner and ran right into his Averngers teammates.  Natasha looked Steve up and down and frowned.  Her red hair was tangled up on one side and they were both covered head to toe in black dust.  They smelled like a barbecue.

“You look terrible.” Natasha told him dryly.

Clint laughed.  “That’s sayin’ something, buddy.” He patted Steve’s shoulder familiarly.

“Where’d you guys just come from?” Steve asked.

“C’mon, Cap.  Why do you insist on asking us questions we can’t answer?” Clint said.

“Maybe because if I was there you would’ve come back looking a bit… cleaner.”

Natasha flipped her hair back over her shoulder and stared Clint in the eye.  “We don’t know what you’re talking about, Rogers.”  She said.

“Yeah, we look fantastic.” Clint agreed, giving Natasha a firm nod.

They turned their gazes back to Steve at the same time.  Steve thought it was increasingly likely that the pair shared one brain.  It was the best explanation for why they always knew one another’s thoughts without them saying a word.  Steve was utterly shocked to discover that they were not, in fact, dating.  And it took a lot to shock Steve Rogers these days.

“Looks aside, what are you doing here this late?” Natasha asked.  “Fury didn’t mention any other missions going out into the field.”

“Fury tells you everything?” Steve countered.

Natasha and Clint shared another look.  They shrugged.

“Do you guys know what time it is?” Steve asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “Because nobody else would call this late.”

“Is it morning?” Clint asked.  “Is that why I feel like I need a nap so bad?”

“Morning, noon, or night you feel like you need a nap.” Natasha accused, pushing his grimy head playfully.

“Constant vigilance is exhausting.” Clint argued.  He flexed his fingers and yawned.  Natasha grinned over at him.

“I’ll let you guys get some rest.” Steve stepped to the side to free their path.

Before she turned the corner, Natasha stopped and looked back at Steve again.  “You should get some rest, too.”

Steve smiled.  “I got seventy years of rest.  I think I’m good.”

Natasha frowned and rolled her eyes at him.

“A seventy year nap sounds ideal.” Clint mused.  Natasha shoved his shoulder a little more aggressively than normal.  “What?”

Steve let out a heavy sigh before turning for the training gym.  S.H.I.E.L.D. training facilities were state of the art.  Everything was clean and organized perfectly.  They had every exercise machine known to man at their disposal, but Steve went straight for the punching bag.  He had enough state of the art.  He wanted something homey.  Comfortable.  The punching bag was as close as he could get.

With every strike he could hear Bucky shouting instructions.  He would criticize his form, comment on his change-ups, the position of his feet.  Every solid punch that landed on the bag was an echo of Bucky’s love.  If he couldn’t stop Steve from picking a fight with every over sized bully on the planet, Bucky would at least make sure Steve was more capable in a fight.  He would make sure Steve did twenty push-ups before bed no matter how long it took him.  He ran in place to make his reflexes sharper.  Anything to lessen the bloody mess Steve would undoubtedly become the second he found another opponent.

The boxing didn’t help Steve when it came to getting over his cold nightmare.  Before long, Bucky’s encouraging voice turned into screams for help.  Bucky’s final look of terror as he fell from the train popped up.  Screaming and screaming.  Steve slammed his fist into the bag just a bit more forcefully and snapped the chain.  The bag sailed through the air and exploded against the far wall spilling sand everywhere.

“Damn, Cap, leave a little for the rest of us.” Rumlow chided coming up beside Steve.

Steve turned and looked Rumlow up and down.  He was a good soldier and rarely questioned Steve’s orders whenever they were assigned missions together.  He was a good kid and they got along, but Steve could tell that Rumlow was just another kid looking for a hero.  It would break the poor guy’s heart if he knew Steve was just the same as anyone else.  Human.

Just about everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. were good little soldiers.  Following orders without fail and without question.  None of them would have cut it with the Howlies.  Soldiers were sheep.  Following the orders of their shepherd.  The Howlies were wolves.  And wolves were in short supply both in S.H.I.E.L.D. and in this new age entirely.

“Sorry, guess I got a little carried away.” Steve walked over to a storage closet and brought out a fresh punching bag.  “Good as new.”

Rumlow patted the bag and grinned at Steve.  “If you want another go, I can wait.”

“No, no.  Go ahead.  I have to get upstairs anyway.” Steve started to unwrap his knuckles before Rumlow could try to protest any further.  Steve watched Rumlow throw a few experimental punches at the bag.

“Make sure you keep your wrist straight.” The words spilled from Steve’s mouth before he could stop them.  Not his words.  Bucky’s.

Rumlow flexed his wrist and nodded.  “Yeah, thanks.”

Steve didn’t bother changing before taking the elevator to Fury’s office.  It didn’t really matter what he wore unless he was on an active mission anyway.  Steve could see the sun hanging loftily in the sky as he rode up the elevator.  It was a beautiful day in hell.

“Captain Rogers, I don’t remember having a meeting with you today.” Fury said from his desk.  He tapped a button on his desk and closed out of the file he was looking at.  Just before the screen went blank, Steve saw Natasha’s and Clint’s faces.

“Or for the past week.” Steve added.

“Not many people would complain about vacation time.” Fury said.  The man crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Steve.

“Most people didn’t grow up in the thirties before it became fashionable to sit on their rears and stare at screens.” Steve grumbled.

It got a chuckle out of Fury.  He uncrossed his arms shaking his head at Steve.  “You know, one of these days that excuse isn’t going to work anymore.”

Steve shoved his hands into the pockets on his sweatpants.  “When that day comes I will personally throw myself into another iceberg.”

“You know, it’s interesting that nowhere in any of your files did it ever mention what a smartass you can be.” Fury pulled up a new file on his computer.

“I guess they were all too distracted by the fact that I could bench press a tank.”

Fury squinted his good eye at Steve and twisted his mouth in thought.  He sighed after a minute and pointed to the file.  “Kandahar, two nights ago, one of our teams went dark.  I sent a team to check in on them, but they reported the whole team disappeared.  No signs of struggle and the camp was completely untouched.  All their bags were there and all the provisions were accounted for.”

“Guerillas in the area?”

“None that we know of, but there was also no blood and no bodies.  Which means I have seven operatives that have somehow vanished off the face of the planet.”

Steve nodded as he read through the file on the screen.

“I’m putting you in charge of finding them and bringing them back even in body bags.”

Steve nodded again.  “Who’s onsite now?”

“Crews is in charge right now, but he’s in over his head and he knows it.”  Fury changed the screen to display the roster of agents Steve was set to meet with.

“Got a spare jet?”

Fury sent Rumlow and Noori to accompany Steve on the mission.  It was slow going when their boots hit the ground.  Crews had no idea where to begin looking for answers which left Steve to inspect the campsite and talk to the locals.  Both of which were aided by the presence of Noori and Rumlow.

Rumlow had keen eyes which were a great help when it came to examining the campsite.  The place may have looked untouched to Crews and his unit, but Steve immediately felt something off about the place.  The missing unit’s dinners had been cooked, but left at the table with little more than a bite or two taken out of them.

Steve picked up one of the trays and sniffed at it.  Despite seventy years of technological advancements, army rations were army rations.  These were no differences.  At least, none that were obvious to normal human senses.  Steve’s enhanced senses were pulling the alarm though he didn’t know why.  He bagged a sample of the rations and ordered Rumlow to take it to the nearest testing facility.  Crews sent three of his men along for the ride.

“You talk to the locals?” Steve asked Crews.

“I tried, they won’t talk.” Crews crossed his arms behind his back and stood straighter in Steve’s presence.  “Didn’t want to jump into putting the edge on before I was sure there was a reason to.”

“Seven missing agents isn’t reason enough?” Steve asked before he realized that ‘putting the edge on’ meant torture.  “Maybe Noori will have better luck.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Noori grumbled.

“Aw, c’mon, Noori, don’t let me down now.” Steve tipped his head at Noori and smiled at her until she blushed and nodded.

“Yeah, alright.” She mumbled to the sand.

“Davis, Pulanski, go with her.” Crews shouted.  The two men jumped to attention and joined Noori at the Humvee.

“Be honest, Crews,” Steve said drawing Crews’ attention back to him, “what do you think happened?”

Crews shook his head.  “I have no earthly idea, Cap.  I wish I did.”

Steve sighed and turned to look at the campsite.  He tucked his thumbs into his belt.  A little worm in his head whispered that it was in plain imitation of Bucky.  Steve ignored that little worm and worked to figure out the mystery at hand.

Noori arrived back at camp just after sundown with Davis and Pulanski.  They were still waiting on word from Rumlow about the rations as they silently ate theirs.  Crews and his unit kept to one side of the sight.  Whenever they looked over at Steve, it was with awe and reverence.  Steve hated it, but kept it to himself.  He was on a mission.

Steve remembered the first mission he went on with the Howlies.  Before they were officially dubbed the Howling Commandos.  Captain America and his commando unit were a test until they further proved themselves.  The boys didn’t mind.  Dum Dum boasted that if anyone messed up it was all going to be pinned on Steve anyway.  The rest of the boys had laughed until Bucky whacked Dum Dum in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle.

Steve had laughed at the antics.  It hadn’t taken them any time at all before the group felt like a finely tuned machine.  They worked together flawlessly.  All of them confident in their position and importance on the team.  All of them working together not just to protect themselves, but to protect each other.

There were no boundary lines.  No hero worship between them.  Well, not in the way the rest of the world idolized them.  Steve had always idolized Bucky.  And one by one each of the Howlies had proved themselves worthy of a bit of Steve’s idolization.

The name came later.  The Howling Commandos.  Steve felt himself smiling at the memory.  The return after their first successful mission.  Steve was stuck thinking of the next fight.  The next HYDRA base they were set to take out.  Gabe and Jacques were utterly euphoric.  Gabe raised his newly acquired HYDRA gun above his head and let out a long, loud howl.  Without hesitation, the rest of the boys joined in, throwing back their heads and howling in victory.

Steve laughed at them all at first.  Until Bucky snatched him up in a headlock and ordered him to howl at the moon.  Morita needled him in the ribs when he pointed out the lack of moon.  Dum Dum shoved at Steve’s arm and they all began chanting, “Howl, howl, howl!” Before erupting into howls again.  Steve laughed again until Bucky squeezed his arm around Steve’s neck and he began howling with them.

Colonel Phillips and Peggy had stormed out of the base to see what all the commotion was surprised and outraged to find that it was Captain America and company making all the racket.  Peggy whacked Steve on the side of the head with a rolled up newspaper as though he had chewed up her best slippers.

The Colonel and Peggy’s outrage only served to push them into laughter again.  Even Steve laughed encouraging Peggy to ask, “This is an active war zone!  Have you all lost your minds?”

“No, Ma’am, but Red Skull sure as shits gonna lose his!” Jacque crowed.  That did it.  The boys all stopped laughing to admonish Jacque for his foul language.

“Get it together, Jacque!” Dum Dum criticized.  “You don’t say ‘shit’ in front of Agent Carter!”

“But you just did.” Jacque pointed out.

Dum Dum’s face turned about twelve shades of red.  “Begging your pardon, Ma’am.” Dum Dum said respectfully, pulling his cap from his head.

Peggy rolled her eyes dramatically and looked at Steve.  He shrugged at her, fighting another smile.

“So much for ‘commandos’.” She teased.  “And my ears are not nearly so sensitive that I can’t handle hearing the word ‘shit’ every now and again.”

The commandos had all shared stunned looks at her use of the word, but Steve had only smiled.  He wasn’t ever surprised by Peggy Carter.  He was, however, excited to see what she did next.  It was always something unexpected and wildly entertaining.  Steve reached up and tugged at the collar of his uniform.  Except for when she was firing a loaded gun directly at his face.

“Cap?” Noori said, bringing him back to the present.  Everyone else was asleep.

“What is it?” Steve asked, sitting up straighter and giving her his undivided attention.

“Rumlow called.  The rations were laced with GHB.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded.

Noori stared at him for a moment.  “Do you know what GHB is?”

“I do not.” Steve admitted.

Noori smiled, seemed horrified that she had, and bit her cheek to keep from smiling again.  The split second she had smiled was the most relaxed he had seen anyone act around him save the Avengers.

“GHB is a knock-out drug.  It’s usually put into food or drink to knock someone unconscious.” Noori explained.

“So somebody drugged the agents?  Why?” Steve asked, though he wasn’t expecting an answer.

“I have no idea.  But I do know that they didn’t just disappear.  They were kidnapped.”

“Good work, Noori.  Is Rumlow on his way back?”

“They should get here by daybreak.”

“Good.  Go get some sleep.” Steve settled back into his spot and crossed his hands over his belly.

“Are _you_ going to get some sleep?” Noori hedged.

“I slept for seventy years, Noori.  I think I got enough.”  He didn’t try to see her face.  It didn’t matter at that point.

Steve watched the skies and wished for a fight.  Remembering what he lost was starting an itch in him that only punching someone unconscious would scratch.  He pulled his shield off his shoulders and held it in his hands.  It had been cleaned up and repainted twice since coming out of the ice, but it was still the same shield.

“Whatcha got there?”

Steve looked up at Natasha.  Her arms were crossed over her chest.  She was dressed in her black stealth suit and smiling coyly.  Steve looked past her to Clint who was dragging his feet through the sand after Rumlow and Crews’ three accompanying agents.

“Fury send you to check up on me?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and held her hand out to help him to his feet.

“He heard you sent Rumlow to Moscow for food analysis.  Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a Russian in your corner.” Natasha shrugged up at him.

“And Clint?”

Natasha turned to look at her partner.  He was crouched in front of the fire, staring into the flames.  Every now and then he would tip forward leaning back just before he fell into the flames.  She turned back to Steve.

“He needs the exercise.”

Steve nodded, not believing a word of the very obvious bullshit.

“I do have intel you might find useful.” Natasha added.  She pulled out a tablet and opened a file to show Steve.

“What is that?” Steve squinted at the screen.

“Satellite recording of the campsite during the unit’s disappearance.  Fury had the tech guys analyzing it the second they went dark.  Took ‘em a while, but they finally came through.”

For a while, Steve didn’t see what Natasha was talking about.  The campsite was movement free for a long time.  Then a faded red box truck drove into frame and backed toward the tent.  Two men got out and entered the tent.  They made three trips into the tent each coming out with an unconscious S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and tossing them into the back of the box truck.

The two men climbed back into the cab of the truck, but they didn’t drive off right away.  Another man came over the hill and walked up to the truck.  He seemed to speak to the men inside for a few minutes before joining them in the cab and driving away.

“It was an inside job.” Steve said aloud as he worked it out.

“The only thing we don’t know yet is why.” Natasha agreed.

“We don’t know where they went either.” Steve reminded her.

“Actually, we found the box truck by satellite.” Clint announced, rising from the fire and coming to join the two.  “It’s about ten clicks north of here.”

“What are we waiting for?” Steve asked.  He locked his shield into position on his back and started for the jet.

“Some of us need sleep to function, you biological disaster!” Clint complained.

Steve stopped mid-step and turned to face Clint.  The camp which had woken at the arrival of the new and returning agents fell completely silent.  Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Only when his lungs were completely empty did he take another breath and start to speak.

“There are six agents out there that were drugged and kidnapped by one of their own.  Someone they trusted who has been doing God knows what to them for over three days.” Steve said quietly.  Although it didn’t matter if Steve whispered or shouted, his voice was the only sound on the night’s cool air.  “When we get to them, whatever state they might be in, do you really want to tell them that you made them suffer a few hours longer so you could take a cat nap?”

Clint stared back at Steve with his jaw clenched tightly shut.  “You sure know how to make people feel like shit, Cap.” Clint said at last.

Steve smiled and rolled his eyes.  “At least I didn’t call you a ‘biological disaster’.”

Clint laughed, following Steve to the jet.  “Sorry, man, I get cranky when I’m sleepy.”

Steve slapped Clint on the shoulder and gave him a tight smile.  “The sooner we save those agents, the sooner you get to a bed.” Steve promised.

Finding the guys to hit had been the most time consuming part of the mission.  As soon as they reached the compound the agents were being held, it was only a matter of taking out the guards (easy), apprehending the traitor (easier), and freeing the hostages (easiest).  Steve was just happy to have someone to hit.  A bully to knock off his list.

“Is that…?” Noori tapped one of the intravenous bags that had been attached to one of the six hostages.

Steve walked over to inspect what she was pointing at.  Steve let out a heavy sigh and dropped his head.

“That explains the death ray they were building in the other room.” Clint supplied.

“When are people going to learn?” Steve muttered to no one in particular.

“Power at any cost.” Natasha said.  “They’d like more Captain Americas, but they’ll settle for a Hulk if they can get it.  Even with the instability.”

“It’s not even the right formula.” Steve argued.

The room went quiet.

“Do you _know_ the right formula?” Noori asked carefully.

“I know what it’s supposed to look like.” Steve explained.  He tapped the clear liquid.  “It doesn’t look like that.”

“Which is both good and bad.” Clint said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they weren’t dosed with anything that could turn them into raging, green monsters, but we also have no idea what they were loaded up with.”  He explained.

Steve looked over at the caravan of agents being wheeled out to the jet.  They were still unconscious, but it wouldn’t save them for the hell they were going through.

The six drugged agents were taken to a private medical wing to be cared for and monitored.  The traitor was shipped off to some S.H.I.E.L.D. black site even Steve didn’t know the location of.  He had gotten what he was after.  He’d gotten the fight he was looking for.  Still, he wasn’t satisfied.  He was beginning to wonder if he ever would be.  And he could only fake it for so long.

“Rogers!”

Steve looked up at the sound of his name.  Clint and Natasha were standing by the door.  He tilted his head at them curiously.

“We’re getting drinks, let’s go.” Natasha called.

“And wings!” Clint added.  Natasha elbowed him in the ribs, but Clint ignored it.  “And fries.”

Steve met them at the door and walked out with them.  Clint clapped him on the back as they walked.  He chattered about the mission and what kind of wings he was going to get at the bar.  Natasha looked past Clint and met Steve’s eyes.  They shared a knowing look.  The kind of look two friends shared when their third friend was being ridiculous.

“We can’t take your car, Nat.  We won’t fit.” Clint said when they reached their cars.

“We _could_ if you men weren’t such babies.” She grumbled.

“Nope.  We’re talking the van.” Clint unlocked his van and waved the other two in.  Natasha jumped in the front seat shouting, “Shotgun!”  Steve dove to the ground between the two vehicles pulling his shield off his back as he went and rolled over looking for the shooter.

The sound of laughter coming from inside the van made Steve sit up.  Natasha and Clint were in tears from laughing so hard.  Steve climbed back to his feet and slipped his shield back onto his back.  He let out an exasperated breath and crawled into the back of the van.

“Okay, Steve, I have to ask.”

“No, you don’t.” He muttered.

“Oh, c’mon, man.  We gotta know.  Do you know what calling ‘shotgun’ is?” Clint asked around his smirk.

“Yes, Clint.  I know what a shotgun is.” He snapped.

Clint and Natasha erupted into renewed fits of laughter.

“Not the same thing, at all!” Natasha gasped.

“If you don’t quit, I’m going to leave.” Steve threatened.

As if to deter Steve from getting out of the vehicle, Clint put the van in gear and eased out of his parking spot and down the ramp out of the garage.  They didn’t stop snickering though he could tell they were trying to quit.  He considered throwing himself out of the moving van anyway.

“Wait, Steve, you were alive during Prohibition!” Natasha said accusatorily.

Steve shrugged and nodded.  “I was also alive when it was abolished.”

“Well, you should know what ‘shotgun’ means then.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it came out of Prohibition.  Bootleggers would drive in pairs, one person behind the wheel and the second guy rode shotgun.  In the passenger seat with a shotgun to shoot at any cops that gave chase.” Natasha explained.

Steve shook his head and put his hand to his head.  “Okay, _maybe_ , maybe I went into a Speakeasy with Bucky a time or two, but I didn’t _know_ any bootleggers.  And why would they use shotguns?  They’d have to reload after every shot.”

“Hold on.” Clint held up his hand.  “ _You_ went to a Speakeasy?” He pulled the van into a parking spot in the back of a dive bar.  “Wouldn’t you have been like ten?”

“I was fourteen.” Steve snapped.  He took his shield off and the jacket of his stealth suit.  He replaced it with his brown leather jacket which was really Bucky’s brown leather jacket not that he was ever going to come looking for it.

“Touchy.” They sang in unison.

“Can we drop this?” Steve pleaded.

Clint turned off the car and they walked to the backdoor of the bar together.  Steve zipped his jacket up and pulled his ball cap lower over his face.  Clint and Natasha looked back at him then over at each other.  Clint grinned and swiped the hat off his head.  Natasha bounced into the room and held her hands out wide.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” She called.  “Presenting, the one, the only, the great CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

There was muted applause and Steve looked up to see that the bar was almost entirely empty save the bartender and two patrons, one of whom was passed out in the corner.  Natasha led them to a table off in the opposite corner.

The bartender came over and pulled out an order pad.  He looked at Steve with great interest, then flicked his eyes over his two companions.  Steve could see the gears turning in his head.  He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and prayed it wouldn’t turn into another All-American night.

“Good afternoon, Will.  Me and my esteemed guests will have three of your finest Heinekens.” Clint told the bartender.  “Also as many wings as you have and a trough of French fries.”

The bartender didn’t write any of Clint’s order down.  Will gave Clint a dutiful salute and headed back to start their order.

“Just a water for me, Will.” Steve called.

The bartender turned back around.  “Water?” He repeated.  “You sure?”

“Yeah, just a water, thanks.”

Will looked like he wanted to argue with Steve’s decision.  He shrugged instead and continued on his way.

“Are you serious, Steve?” Natasha demanded.

“What? Now that it’s _legal_ you’re too good for beer?” Clint continued.

“Typical hoodlum.” Natasha sighed.

“It’s not that.  Honest.” Steve said, holding up his hand to stop any further teasing.

“Is it us?” Clint asked, horrified.

“You don’t want to drink with us?” Natasha pouted.

“No!”

“Well. Tell us how you really feel.” Clint moped.

“I can’t get drunk!” Steve cried to put an end to the madness.

Natasha and Clint exchanged yet another look.  Steve crossed his arms and hunkered down low in his chair.

“At all?” Clint asked.

“Ever?” Natasha asked.

Steve threw his head back and groaned.  “It’s a side effect of the super soldier serum.  My body burns the alcohol up too quickly for it to affect me.”

“Yeah, maybe, but how much have you tried to drink at one time?” Clint challenged.

Steve stared at the table.  It really wasn’t so different from the one he sat at in France.  The bar he had convinced Bucky and the rest of the Howlies into joining him on his crusade.  The bar he made Bucky sign his own death certificate.  It had shut down by the time Steve went back to it.  Nazi’s had infested every corner of Europe by then.

Steve had ducked behind the bar himself and poured three pints of beer and chugged them all in five minutes.  He filled the mugs again and again.  He took one last mug to a table and sat down where he resigned himself to the truth.  He had gotten his best friend killed and he couldn’t even get drunk to numb the absolute, bone-crushing agony that came with that.

“Two beers, a water, and your food.” Will said, oblivious to the hush that had fallen over the trio.

“You ever try moonshine?” Clint asked.

Steve let out a soft chuckle.  “I drank during Prohibition, remember?”

“Right.”

“Peggy.” Natasha said.

Steve looked up and over at her.  “What?”

“That was her name, right?” Natasha clarified.  “The British Intelligence Agent you were dating?”

Steve flushed. “Peggy and I… we weren’t dating.  We didn’t date.  We were supposed to go on a date, but, uh… the plane crashed.  I crashed the plane.” Steve stammered.  “She actually got married.  Had kids.  I even saw her recently.  Uh… in London.”  Steve cleared his throat nervously.  “We never dated.”

“Wow.” Clint said around a mouthful of food.  He looked at Natasha.  “I didn’t even know he could do that.”

“Me neither.” She agreed.  “Gone forever is my image of suave and cool Captain America.  Now I am forced to associate with stuttering, ‘Never-Kissed-A-Girl’ Rogers, here.”

“I’ve kissed girls!” Steve shouted.

Clint and Natasha laughed again.

“Name one.” Clint said.

“Peggy Carter!” Steve answered quickly.

“You kissed Peggy?” Natasha repeated.

“Yes!”

“You kissed a girl you weren’t dating?” She said in mocking shock.  “What would your mother say?”

Steve rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.  The corners of his mouth tipped up and he sighed.  “Probably something like, _go maith, mo ghrá_.”

They stared at him with blank expressions.  Steve chuckled and took a big drink of his water.

Steve cleared his throat and affected his mother’s thick, Irish accent.  “It’s abou’ fookin’ time, Stevie!  Though’ ye were doomed to be a damned bachelor forever!  An’ I’d have tae steal one o’ James’ lil’ uns if I’m tae have any fookin’ grandchildren!”

“No, no, don’t say that.” Clint protested.  “Don’t tell me Captain America’s mother used swear words.”

Steve laughed.  “My mother swore like the devil and beat me within an inch of death whenever she heard me doing the same.”  He pushed his hand into his eye and bowed himself over laughing.  “She chased Bucky down the street with a broom once after he stubbed his toe on the coffee table and said, ‘shit’!”

Steve forgot his company.  Forgot his surroundings.  He laughed at the memory until the laughter shifted into pitiful sobs.  He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried not to think about how everyone in his memories was dead or creeping toward it.  Everyone he had ever loved and had ever loved him in return had gone somewhere he couldn’t reach them.

Hands settled softly on his back.  Reminding him where he was.  Reminding him that he was in no place fit for such a break down.  Steve sniffed hard and scrubbed the unexpected tears from his cheeks.  He cleared his throat and finished his water.

“I’m gonna head out.” Steve told them, standing up.

“Hold on a second, we’ll take you home.” Clint said.  “You’re stuffs in my van anyway.”

The shield was the only reason Steve didn’t run out the door right then.  He nodded and waited while Natasha paid for their food and drinks.  Clint stuffed fistfuls of fries and wings into a Styrofoam to-go box and they clambered back into the van more morosely this time.

“Sorry.  I think I ruined drinks.” Steve said when they reached his apartment building.

“Are you kidding?” Natasha said.  “That was the most fun we’ve had at Willie’s in forever.”

“Not to mention informative.” Clint added.

Natasha raised a finger and pointed at Clint nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, who knew Captain America got drunk during Prohibition when he was _fourteen_?” She said scandalously.

“You have to come with us again.  We aren’t taking no for an answer.” Clint told him.

Steve smiled and gave an acknowledging tilt of his head.  He picked up his stealth suit jacket and shield.  Clint watched him climb out of the van and shut the door.

“Hey, Steve?” He called.

Steve stepped over to Natasha’s window to answer him.  “Yeah?”

“You have my number, right?” Clint asked.

“Oh, geez, Barton.”

“Yeah, why?” Steve answered, ignoring Natasha.

“Just… if you ever feel like you need a friend you can call me.  I can’t always promise I’ll be able to come over, but I can listen.  If you need it.”

Steve was quiet for a full minute.  “Thanks, Clint.”

He patted the side of the door and made his way back up to his apartment.  He felt truly exhausted for the first time in days.  More than he had after his mission.  His body rejected the idea of anything mildly energetic. 

He kicked his clothes off until he was wearing his boxers and nothing else.  He slid into bed under the covers.  As soon as he shut his eyes he was asleep.  A peaceful, dreamless sleep.  No past horrors appeared to haunt him.  He slept well for the first time since the ice.


End file.
